You Spin Me Right Round Baby, Right Round

This story revolves around a very posh restaurant in Kampala city. I am not going to tell you which restaurant it was because I am sure I can live without all your nuggu.

Okay. That sounded unduly arrogant, and I did not mean to come out sounding as if I am a snobbish prick. I meant that to remain a secret, so let me rephrase: I would not want jealousy to poison our relationship.

I know that’s hardly better, but let’s just proceed.

I was a this restaurant with a group of very important people of high standing in society. I am not saying that to make you more jealous. That sentence got sidetracked. It ought to have moved in a different direction. It should have gone:

I was at this restaurant during a time when I was recovering from a bout of the flu. This is one of the ways in which Hugh Jackman and I are similar. He was capable of healing himself rapidly of deep flesh wounds in the movie Wolverine. I am capable of healing myself of flu in real life.

The following paragraph, by the way, may involve graphic descriptions of bodily fluids, so if you have any young children nearby, please, gather them closer. They will not want to miss this.

There are times when you think your nose has stopped running, but then you find you are wrong. As we sat down to dine in our intellectually stimulating and fashionably enviable way, my nose began to feel damp.

Slowly small rivulets of mucus began to accumulate in the little groves of my nostrils.

Now, I had no handkerchief with me. There are a number of reasons for this. I shall tell you two of them. The first is that I didn’t think I would need one that night. The second is that I am one of those people who NEVER thinks he will need a handkerchief, so he never even owns any.

I therefore had to make a trip to the lavatory. Not to do that! Of course not. I do not do that stuff. Never in my life. Not even once. That’s disgusting.

I went to the lavatory to get some tissue paper and blow my nose there.

I asked the waiting staff the way, they pointed it out and I climbed down the stairs to it.

Now, this place has a very smart lav. It was also very carefully maintained. I noticed that the tip of the tissue paper roll which I was about to tug at was folded neatly into an elegant triangle.

I tugged off a length of TP and hocked thick, slimly gobs of gooey mucus into it.

Oh, sorry, was that too graphic?

After my passages were clean, I returned to my friends and we continued with the astonishingly witty and urbane conversations we usually have.

For some time. Because a while after, soon after the food arrived, my noise was getting moist again. (Look I’m sorry if I’m grossing you out, but I don’t know how I can tell a story about nasal phlegm without being gross, okay? I didn’t go to medical school).

So I needed to return to the gents.

I found another member of the waiting staff to get directions again, because in this restaurant, which I shall not name for purposes, I repeat, of forestalling nuggu, if you don’t get directions each time, you can end up just going around in circles.

I was directed to the gents and there I reached for the TP and found it, once again, folded neatly.

I tore off a bit, blew my nose and returned upstairs.

A little bit later, after yet more scintillating and insightful and character-building banter among my friends, (not to mention the expensive food) I needed to return to the loos again.

I made my rounds back to the gents. And found that, yes, the corner of the TP had been folded into a triangle.

I went back a couple more times, but every time I spun back to that little room, ripped off some TP, I would return and find that it had been carefully folded back into that neat little triangle.

There is a guy in Kampala whose job is to go to toilets and refold the tip of the bogroll every time it is used. Those of you who use it for other purposes more filthy and disgusting and depraved than just blowing your noses (and you know who you are) just know that there is someone whose job it is to come in after you have committed your sick acts. And he folds up the tissue paper.

Museveni says there is no lack of jobs. It is just that people lack the skills for the jobs that are there. You haha.

This story revolves around a very posh restaurant in Kampala city. I am not going to tell you which restaurant it was because I am sure I can live without all your nuggu.

Okay. That sounded unduly arrogant, and I did not mean to come out sounding as if I am a snobbish prick. I meant that to remain a secret, so let me rephrase: I would not want jealousy to poison our relationship.

I know that’s hardly better, but let’s just proceed.

I was a this restaurant with a group of very important people of high standing in society. I am not saying that to make you more jealous. That sentence got sidetracked. It ought to have moved in a different direction. It should have gone:

I was at this restaurant during a time when I was recovering from a bout of the flu. This is one of the ways in which Hugh Jackman and I are similar. He was capable of healing himself rapidly of deep flesh wounds in the movie Wolverine. I am capable of healing myself of flu in real life.

The following paragraph, by the way, may involve graphic descriptions of bodily fluids, so if you have any young children nearby, please, gather them closer. They will not want to miss this.

There are times when you think your nose has stopped running, but then you find you are wrong. As we sat down to dine in our intellectually stimulating and fashionably enviable way, my nose began to feel damp.

Slowly small rivulets of mucus began to accumulate in the little groves of my nostrils.

Now, I had no handkerchief with me. There are a number of reasons for this. I shall tell you two of them. The first is that I didn’t think I would need one that night. The second is that I am one of those people who NEVER thinks he will need a handkerchief, so he never even owns any.

I therefore had to make a trip to the lavatory. Not to do that! Of course not. I do not do that stuff. Never in my life. Not even once. That’s disgusting.

I went to the lavatory to get some tissue paper and blow my nose there.

I asked the waiting staff the way, they pointed it out and I climbed down the stairs to it.

Now, this place has a very smart lav. It was also very carefully maintained. I noticed that the tip of the tissue paper roll which I was about to tug at was folded neatly into an elegant triangle.

It looked something like this

I tugged off a length of TP and hocked thick, slimly gobs of gooey mucus into it.

Oh, sorry, was that too graphic?

After my passages were clean, I returned to my friends and we continued with the astonishingly witty and urbane conversations we usually have.

For some time. Because a while after, soon after the food arrived, my noise was getting moist again. (Look I’m sorry if I’m grossing you out, but I don’t know how I can tell a story about nasal phlegm without being gross, okay? I didn’t go to medical school).

So I needed to return to the gents.

I found another member of the waiting staff to get directions again, because in this restaurant, which I shall not name for purposes, I repeat, of forestalling nuggu, if you don’t get directions each time, you can end up just going around in circles.

I was directed to the gents and there I reached for the TP and found it, once again, folded neatly.

I tore off a bit, blew my nose and returned upstairs.

A little bit later, after yet more scintillating and insightful and character-building banter among my friends, (not to mention the expensive food) I needed to return to the loos again.

I made my rounds back to the gents. And found that, yes, the corner of the TP had been folded into a triangle.

I went back a couple more times, but every time I spun back to that little room, ripped off some TP, I would return and find that it had been carefully folded back into that neat little triangle.

There is a guy in Kampala whose job is to go to toilets and refold the tip of the bogroll every time it is used. Those of you who use it for other purposes more filthy and disgusting and depraved than just blowing your noses (and you know who you are) just know that there is someone whose job it is to come in after you have committed your sick acts. And he folds up the tissue paper.

Museveni says there is no lack of jobs. It is just that people lack the skills for the jobs that are there. You haha.

P.S. If you are interested, I have a couple of updates on Never Man if you feel like dropping by.